


Plausible Deniability

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Arson, Childhood Trauma, Consensual sex work, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Fighting Kink, Gavin is Connor's Tyler Durden, Human AU, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Insomnia, Inspired by Fight Club, Is it Polyamory if One of Them Isn't Real, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Multi, Other, Prostitution, Sibling Incest, Suicidal Thoughts, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22289239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Connor gets caught fighting and lands himself with a realization he doesn't want nor need.Gavin doesn't want to let go.And Niles just wants to be loved.
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed, Connor/Upgraded Connor | RK900, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 14
Kudos: 49
Collections: Anonymous





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This was directly inspired by Fight Club- anticipate some Hollywood pysch bullshit mixed with actual medical accuracies.
> 
> This story is less about causing chaos and anarchy and more about inner struggle and the human instinct to survive at all costs. It's about taking the punches as they come and figuring out the rest later.
> 
> It's not healthy. It's not sane.
> 
> But none of them are complaining about it.

Connor hunches over in his stiff plastic seat as he examines the room around him.

There's a woman to his right. To his left. Across from him. He counts up to 12 and finds himself to be the only male in the group and the part of his mind that absorbs everything it ever sees and hears like a sponge unhelpfully spits out statistics from the brochures and handbooks he's received over the past few weeks.

Dissociative Identity Disorder is diagnosed in women far more than men by nearly a 6 to 1 ratio.

Though by this math, there should be another male in this room to prove the statistics.

He drags his eyes away from the thick-haired woman to his far left that has brought her own knitting with her and that voice in the back of his head tells him just how many people die from being stabbed by knitting needles every year.

He gets the image of a small old woman finally having enough of her uselessly annoying husband and losing her shit and he laughs under his breath.   
  
Connor has never knit before. He’s never created a thing in his life. He’s just been floating through these years like a ghost from experience to experience.   
  
He has destroyed, however. He’s destroyed more things than he can even count.

Gavin is pacing the room slightly, though he's remained mostly out of sight.

Things have been.  _ Strange _ since Connor realized Gavin was just a hallucination of his mind. A very real, very convincing hallucination, but one nonetheless.   
  
He supposes it’s all the more stranger that he’s almost made it to his thirties before figuring out that Gavin wasn’t real. Or maybe he always knew and he just decided to ignore it. Maybe he was so desperate for so long that he didn’t want to look too close to all the hints that were there since the first time they ‘met’.   
  
But getting thrown in jail for illegal fighting and consequently finding out his accomplice didn’t actually exist? What a wild fucking ride.   
  
He still remembers seeing the footage- watching himself talk and fight with someone that wasn’t there. They played the video and Connor finally looked up to find Gavin standing in the corner of the little office they were stuffed in. Leaning against the wall, expression unreadable.   
  
If Connor believed Gavin was capable of such things, he’d say he looked sad. Or maybe just disappointed that he’d finally been caught out. Or perhaps pity.   
  
He got off on an insanity plea and now he’s been mandated therapy. Counseling. Monitoring. Connor supposes the Arkait fortune helped him, but he refuses to thank the memory of his  _ dear mother _ for that.

And now Connor is here. Sitting in a room full of middle-aged women who want to talk about how their second or third personality spent their life savings at the casino.

Or how their husbands left them because they were cheated while not in control of themselves.

How their kids hate them because they're never present enough in their own mind.

But Connor? Connor has Gavin.

Gavin is standing across from him now, poorly miming MMA as another woman tells how her  _ martial arts master _ personality got into a fight with her abusive father and landed him in the hospital despite her being much smaller and weaker than him.

Gavin is being his usual, incredibly predictable self.

Connor wonders why he ended up with Gavin instead of something fun that allowed him to land some fuckers in the hospital that deserved it.

Gavin turns to him and grins, showing off his scarred face and calloused knuckles.

Oh that's right.

They did.

Many people. Including Connor himself a few times.

But that was different.

Underground fighting wasn't illegal if there wasn't any money changing hands. The officials care less if it's just a bunch of degenerates beating the shit out of each other just to learn what it's like to feel real in their fucked up lives.

But after a few too many people go to the hospital, you end up in jail. And then you get assigned mandatory therapy.

And then your therapist sends you to a fucking counseling group to gain perspective on what the condition that brought him this far looks like on others.

Truly? Connor feels pity. Overwhelming, apathetic pity. What good is a crowd of people living in your head if they're this fucking lame? At least Jiu-Jitsu chick got revenge on the fucker that ruined her fucking childhood.

"And you, Connor?"   
  
Connor sighs.

"He fucked my brother."

_ He has Gavin. _

There's shocked silence for a moment and Connor maintains eye contact with the hazel-eyed bastard as he grins crookedly from his corner.

He mimes sucking a dick and Connor ignores it, knowing the little shit is completely unrepentant.

"You mean like... forced himself?" the woman who has an entire room full of paintings that she doesn't remember completing asks quietly.

"Using  _ you _ ?" the chick with a second job she kicks ass at without ever having been to school because one of her personalities is a fuckin' field expert.

"No. Yes."

There's more silence and Connor sighs, picking at the edge of his shirtsleeve where it's still stained. He has blood on all of his work shirts now. He can't be fucked to buy more. He never needed the money from working anyway.

"My brother enjoyed every second of it, the way he tells it. Enjoyed it even more before he realized it wasn't me fucking him."

He finally leans back in his chair and watches as the faces around him shift uncomfortably.

He hates being here.

Gavin hasn't ruined shit for him, yet he's changed everything. Warped Connor's world to meet his and Connor feels he should be scared by that.

But no. He's scared that he's  _ not  _ scared by it.

He embraces this fucked up world Gavin built around him.

Even if now that world that Connor and Niles have had wrapped around themselves since they were kids now includes fucking _ incest _ as some kind of rotted cherry on top.

It doesn't even feel like a shocking thing anymore in the grand scheme of things.   
  
Niles is just as broken as he is. Maybe that’s why they’ve never been able to go their own ways. Two shattered bits that happen to fit together to form something else.

Connor is angry. Frustrated. Run Down. Tired. He hasn’t slept more than twenty minutes a night in just over a week.   
  
When you’re this tired, exhaustion becomes something you can taste- metallic and wet. And everything around you just becomes scenery to a play you’re acting in. The chair he’s sitting in doesn’t feel real. Like it’s been put there to prop him up so he can say his lines and go home.   
  
He’s blacked out when he’s this tired before. Woken up to doing mundane things like cleaning or just standing in a corner somewhere. Even when he’s sleeping, he can’t rest.   
  
Maybe if he’d gone to the doctor sooner and told them about more than his insomnia he would’ve dealt with this sooner. Found out that Gavin was just waiting to get his turn to drive the rig and the constant struggle between them was stealing his ability to sleep.

But Gavin has his uses and purpose and now that Connor knows it's all some fucked up extension of himself that took shape and made itself real- he's at peace with it.

In the beginning it felt like having a roommate that ruined your life and made you miserable whilst also getting you addicted to the rush so you wouldn't kick them out.

Now? Well it just feels like poetic justice.

The person ruining Connor's life and attempts at being normal is  _ himself. _ How fitting.

Connor sighs, getting up to grab his jacket and leave.

He's fucking bored and Gavin has been distracting since the beginning. How is he supposed to sit in a room full of people he can't relate to and say he wants Gavin gone when in reality he feels no such thing. He should. He knows he should. He should want to rend Gavin limb from limb and expel him from his mind like a nasty virus.

But he doesn't.

He can't imagine himself without Gavin. Who would he be?  _ What _ would he be?

He'd be the same terrified, weak kid he always was. The one that disappoints everyone and gets locked in a room for months because he said something he shouldn't have. The kid who wakes up with a terrified little brother clinging to him- too afraid to say one of  _ mommy’s friends _ is touching him.

Because nothing has ever been normal for either of them.   
  
And Connor couldn’t save  _ himself _ much less Niles in the end. Gavin had been the one to drag them out of the flames.   
  
Connor stands outside in the cold Detroit evening and contemplates all the things that brought him to now. He wonders if who he is now is any better or worse than who he would have been without Gavin.   
  
He shakes his head, sighing.

No.

He'd be  _ nothing _ without Gavin.

And Gavin -the arrogant prick- fucking knows it.

He hates Gavin for knowing. For taking all the credit for the things Connor thought he was doing for himself.

But more than anything, he hates that Gavin isn’t real. That he  _ wasn’t _ a friend he’d made that taught him to protect himself and his brother. That he  _ wasn’t  _ really there to push Connor to take charge of what he could and never feel sorry for what he had to do for it.   


No. It’s always just been himself in the end. The broken pieces finding their way back to each other at the cost of his identity.   
  
This entire time he thought he’d had someone in his corner when he was really just.   
  
Alone.

  
  
Gavin isn’t walking next to him as he strides home, but it doesn’t matter.   
  
He knows Gavin is waiting for him.   
  
Just like he always has.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added some new tags to the fic- check them over before continuing, don't want anyone being put into an awful mental state as new topics are brought up in the story! Take care of yourself, y'all.

It's strange touching Gavin. Connor doesn't know why it never occurred to him earlier that Gavin never really  _ felt _ right.

It's like touching something in a dream. There's a memory of sensation but nothing that has weight.

Connor wonders how much of Gavin is his own overactive mind coming up with physics, rules, and convincing personalities and how much of it is just... Gavin.

The human mind is capable of incredible feats.

But Connor is still annoyed when taking a swing at Gavin does nothing to satisfy the need in his muscles to hit something solid and real. And yet it does in it's own way.

Because his mind is lying to itself and telling him he's hitting something that's really there even though it isn't. Gavin even has convincing scars and bruises the next day.

Connor wonders idly about what he'd look like on camera sucking Gavin's cock. Would it just be him miming in open air, him asleep, or him bent over in his bed like a pretzel throating his own prick?

He should film it sometime. Maybe he can even convince Gavin to not delete it afterwards.

There's still missing time. Nights where Connor doesn't remember doing things or going places- he's just exhausted.

He's not as disturbed about it anymore. There's almost an understanding between them now. Gavin is someone who wants to keep this going for as long as possible. He doesn't want to be kicked off the ride and he's willing to behave in the ways that matter to keep things the way they are now.

He wakes up in Niles' bed again. Niles is nowhere to be seen and Connor knows that's the new normal now. Niles knows Connor doesn't want to see him the next day and leaves before he wakes.

Connor wonders how long he should make Niles think that this shit still matters.

He's fucking his twin. So fucking  _ what. _ If Gavin let him remember it then maybe he'd find he liked it.

But something tells him that Gavin wants this part of things to himself.

At least for now.

His therapist has encouraged him to start a journal. It’s pretentiously bright, the pages stamped with flowers and cursive lettering for each day. The choices at the store bothered him when he went to pick it up- the  _ feminine _ flowered monstrosities or the  _ masculine _ and altogether boring black on beige. Because of course it was so fucking important to make a book of dated paper  _ gendered. _   
  
Gavin wanted the most garish one on the shelf, said they deserved some color in the apartment, biting back a laugh the entire time.   
  
Each page is a day and each day is sectioned- one for him, one for Gavin if he so chooses to actually participate in their therapy  _ homework. _   
  
So far, he has. In that kind of hateful, malicious compliance kind of way.   
  
_ “Woke up, ate, went out, came home, saw Ni, went to bed.” _   
  
Never any real detail. Not like Connor puts in.   
  
He supposes this is just his way of trying to gain some control. Like writing down timestamps of his day will actually fix what’s falling apart around them. It makes him feel crazy. Like he’s the last one in the Titanic frantically turning knobs and pulling levers hoping that something will stop the ocean from flooding in. Incapable of stopping until there’s water in his lungs.   
  
Niles still hasn’t talked to him. Not really. 

They’re awkward around each other now, Niles playing the dance of someone who’s unsure how welcome they are. Connor’s noticed he’s spending longer nights out with his johns, probably burning the candle on both ends to avoid coming home and seeing him.

Wherever he’s going, he knows Gavin knows.   
  
Because he’s still having murky dreams about Niles’ screaming orgasm.

And Gavin has never hidden the fact that he’s enjoying himself.

They’ve worked it out it seems- however it is one works out the fact that Gavin is an entirely different person than the face he’s wearing. That Niles has apparently fallen head over heels for him, even after finding out this wasn’t what he thought he was.   
  
He knows Niles still wants him. Now that the cat has been torn from the bag it’s been hiding in for several years, he can see that Niles has  _ always _ wanted him. He’s just not sure how much of it still connects back to Gavin and how much is actually him. Did Niles fall in love with  _ him _ or  _ Gavin wearing his skin? _ _   
_ _   
_ But it’s not always about emotions with Niles. Sometimes he’s just an insatiable slut.   
  
It’s why he’s so successful with his work. He  _ wants it  _ more often than he doesn’t. Doesn’t even have to come, just wants to be used. Keeps him from thinking too much about it.   
  
So, for all he knows, Niles wants to ride his dick because that’s just what he  _ does. _

With Gavin it’s different, that much he knows, but with him? He has no fucking clue.

He’d rather let Niles figure it out on his own. Put the weight of it in his hands instead of thinking too hard about the fact that he’d let it happen without so much as a fight.   
  
Niles isn’t the only one hiding filthy secrets, it’s just that Connor is an expert at ignoring shit. Especially his  _ own _ shit. Hide it. Bury it. Hope it gets forgotten. Keep moving.   
  
He wonders if he could get away with a night at the fight club, if the bruises would fade before his next therapy appointment. If maybe he doesn’t actually give a shit about showing up with a black eye and a split lip.   
  
But, he figures most of the folk have scattered by now. The raid either locking them up or scaring them off for good. All good things come to an end eventually.

He’s got some things he can burn.

But he doesn’t feel like it.

Not without Gavin, and Gavin must be having one of his rare rest days because he’s suspiciously absent today.   
  
He goes on a walk instead.

There’s too much going on in his mind today and he’s tired. He’s always tired.

Not for the first time, he wonders if he can just keep walking right out of Detroit and away from everything. If he can’t vanish somewhere and leave all of this behind. If maybe he could even shut it all down and cease to exist.   
  
There’s two people in his head- who’s to say that  _ he’s _ even the original?

Maybe one day he’ll find himself drifting away, leaving only Gavin behind to take his place.

Would peace find him then?   
  
He tosses another lit match over the bridge, into the water below where it extinguishes and is swept downstream.   
  
And imagines himself floating away, bobbing along to the current. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So were still a little scattered in the storyline, but I think I like it that way for now. Connor's thoughts are everywhere and the days bleed together for him. And we're starting to see some of his fears eek out little by little.
> 
> We get a little more insight into Niles, but still no appearance from him yet. He's too busy fucking his emotions out and getting paid to do it.
> 
> As the story goes on, they will figure it out, but expecting stability from any of them right now is a fools errand.
> 
> They're all just stumbling along.


End file.
